The streets were covered in snow that blinded her when the sun shifted course. Lena would have preferred that the clouds have remained after the blizzard; she hated a noncommittal sky.
She passed an apartment she used to live in that was on a hidden street and she hadn’t remembered the number or the floor or the flower tiles in the lobby. Nothing further had happened there beyond going to sleep on a bed with no sheets, listening to people smoke in the ambiguous backyard area of an independent movie theater, and hearing her roommate sing off-key to Seal songs from the late 90s while getting ready for work.
She felt as though she had been asleep for the last three years. That things had happened to her and she had met people and it had all meant nothing. It was the end of the year and all she had were the shells of things.